Comfort Food
by SonriaCat
Summary: He'd experimented with a few different culinary options in this alternate universe, but had discovered that the closest analogue was Earth-based. How terribly ordinary, though it would suffice for now. Or would it?
1. Attempt 1

_Star_ _Trek_ and _Star Trek: Discovery_ are the registered trademarks and copyrighted property of CBS Corporation and CBS Television Studios. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

* * *

 _This was inspired by some, uh, recent events in my own life, but I'm still blaming the Twitter crew. Enjoy!_

* * *

 **Comfort Food  
** _Attempt #1_

* * *

The replicator chimed. _"One plate of grilled octopus, tenderized and flavored with black pepper, olive oil, lemon,_ _garlic and white wine; presented with grilled asparagus."_

Gabriel Lorca found himself holding his breath as he took the steaming plate of food out. Would it finally be right this time? The smell was, at least; it wasn't quite as pungent as he tended to like his Kelpien, but part of that, no doubt, was the difference in meat. He'd experimented with a few different options in this alternate universe, but had discovered that the closest analogue was the Earth-based squid. How terribly ordinary.

Of course, the dish was considered exotic and esoteric among humans, so there was that, at least.

Bringing the lights up just enough to see what he was doing, he took the plate over to the tiny dining area in his temporary quarters. The doctors at Starfleet Medical weren't quite ready to let him completely out of treatment yet, but they'd agreed to release him to outpatient therapy a couple of weeks ago.

As far as he was concerned, it hadn't happened a second too soon. If _one more person_ suggested getting his eyes replaced…

No. He wasn't going to ruin this moment by thinking about that. He shook his head to clear it before picking up the fork and digging in, closing his eyes and hoping.

A moment later, he sighed.

Not quite.

The octopus prepared with a traditional, simple human method wasn't bad, and it wasn't like him to waste food — he'd learned _that_ lesson at a very young age; you never knew when your next meal would happen — so he ate it. But he was still disappointed. The octopus was actually a bit too tender, tending toward soft, and there wasn't enough of a sweet taste to counteract the pepper. The asparagus was at least a good complement. It, too, had been flavored with black pepper and butter.

Finishing the meal in silence, he dumped the plate into the recycler and sat back down at the desk in his quarters. "Computer, open research file Lorca-gamma-four. Note ingredients for the most recently replicated meal."

" _Working. Information placed in file."_

"Add note. Not quite firm enough and needed something sweeter than lemon. Octopus isn't quite as firm as Kel — wait, strike that." He still sometimes forgot the subtler differences between universes. "Replace. Octopus is a good substitute if not overcooked, as it loses firmness. End log."

" _Note saved."_

"Close file. Re-open previous file." He'd been studying the specifications of the various ships in Starfleet's arsenal, trying to get a sense of the engineering aesthetics. It wasn't the most interesting work, but it demanded enough of his knowledge to keep him from getting tired and bored.

The next schematic that came up was for the Fleet's newly-designated flagships, the _Constitution_ class. These appeared to be large enough to approach the scale he was more used to seeing among the Emperor's fleet. Grinning, he stretched in preparation for settling in to a long session.

Just as he arched his back, his gut contracted into a painful cramp.

He folded back up with a hiss, allowing himself to lean forward and wrap his arms around his thighs. If there'd been anyone else here, he'd never have allowed himself to show this kind of weakness, but he was alone, and this Federation held an ideal that sentient beings' right to privacy overrode security needs in most cases. There weren't any recorders.

The cramp subsided as quickly as it had come, and he straightened back up. That was when the room began to spin, and an ominous sound came from the area that had just cramped.

 _Oh, shit._

It was only after he'd scrambled into the head that he realized how apropos the sentiment had been.


	2. Attempt 2

_Star Trek_ and _Star Trek: Discovery_ are the registered trademarks and copyrighted property of CBS Corporation and CBS Television Studios. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

* * *

 **Comfort Food  
** _Attempt #2_

* * *

The replicator chimed. _"One plate of Pacifican longline squid, flavored with orange zest, black pepper, white wine and capers; presented with grilled asparagus and jasmine basmati rice."_

In the three months since he'd been released from treatment, Gabriel Lorca had figured out the hard way that he and octopus weren't going to mix well. It had also occurred to him that an audit of his personal files might give him away; the other Lorca, it seemed, tended to see food as a means to an end; as such, he'd cycled through a depressingly short list of standard, bland meals. He'd tried a few, and while they were edible, he couldn't credit them with much more than that.

Still, it kept him running, so Lorca generally tried to stick to the list as much as he could. There was no need to raise any more suspicion than necessary, after all.

The cravings for freshly-prepared Kelpien just became so strong sometimes. Just yesterday, he'd awakened in the middle of the night, sweating and aching from dreams that remembered attendance at sumptuous banquets, sitting by the Emperor's side. _She_ _'d_ been seated across from him, deliberately making a show out of licking her fingers as she enjoyed the feast, not-so-subtly attempting to provoke his interest.

More often than not, it had worked. The smell and taste of well-prepared Kelpien was irrevocably linked with memories that were breathtakingly delicious in other ways.

He'd managed to calm himself down enough to finish the sleep cycle, but the thought of another one of those bland, boring meals after his shift had simply been more than he could bear.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled the aroma coming off his latest culinary experiment. He'd discovered orange zest accidentally, after he'd (apparently) nearly broken down during the memorial service for the fallen officers from the _Buran_. Admiral Kress had taken pity on him, dragging him to a meal at Madame Chang's afterward. She'd served orange chicken, which was how he'd discovered the taste. Oranges were too delicate to survive in Terra's harsh environment; they'd become extinct long before he was born.

Setting the plate on his desk, he took a swig of the bourbon he'd replicated a few hours before, savoring its smoky taste, before digging into the meal. This was the first time he'd tried a non-human meat source; perhaps it would be a good substitute for the octopus.

Two bites in, his tongue went numb.

Then the insides of his cheeks.

Before he was even halfway through the first squid arm, he was spluttering, fighting just to breathe and choking as often as he managed to draw air in, and the numbness had spread to most of his torso. He stood up, lurching toward the comm.

His voice was breathy. "This is Captain Lorca. Guest quarters. Medical —" Now even his lungs seemed to be rebelling; even if he could draw a breath in he couldn't hold onto it. Black spots danced in his vision, and his knees were becoming rubbery. "Send…need help… _hurry_."

He never remembered hitting the floor, but apparently he had, because the next thing he was aware of was a medical technician leaning over him, administering a hypo. The soreness in his neck suggested it wasn't the first one. Lorca drew a breath in experimentally. It worked, but it hurt.

"Take it easy, captain," said the medic. "You're coming out of anaphylactic shock."

"Ana —" his voice was little more than a whisper.

"Didn't you check the warnings before trying Pacifican longline squid? Seventy percent of humans are allergic to it. Looks like you're part of that majority, although your reaction was a little worse than usual. I've given you some antihistamines, but you're going to feel like hell for a couple of days."

Lorca closed his eyes. No doubt the medic wouldn't care that that was the entire reason he'd decided to experiment tonight in the first place.


	3. Attempt 3

_Star Trek_ and _Star Trek: Discovery_ are the registered trademarks and copyrighted property of CBS Corporation and CBS Television Studios. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

* * *

 **Comfort Food  
** _Attempt #3_

* * *

The replicator chimed. _"One plate of tentacles from an Australian giant cuttlefish, flavored with lemon and orange zest, Szechuan peppercorns and extra virgin olive oil; presented with grilled asparagus and butter-flavored orzo noodles."_

Even though he had already been thoroughly familiar with the ship's specifications, Gabriel Lorca had still been tremendously impressed at the quality of the _Discovery_ 's construction when he'd come aboard. This wasn't even Starfleet's flagship, yet they still had avoided the low-bid, cost-cutting measures that plagued so many of the Empire's vessels. The propulsion and weapons systems worked flawlessly, the scientific equipment was best-in-class, and even the deck and wall plating was some of the highest-end finish material he'd ever seen on a starship.

During those first few hours, he'd found himself thinking that the obvious commitment to excellence, despite a lack of financial incentives or threats, might mean it'd be worth it to stay in this universe rather than trying to return to his own.

He'd shaken the thoughts off, of course; despite everything, Starfleet and the Federation were still beneath the notice of powerful beings like himself. They wouldn't last. The weak never did. And he had a mission, a purpose, a _destiny_ to fulfill. He wouldn't waver from that, no matter how tempted.

It helped that he'd quickly discovered that the _Discovery_ wasn't without problems and glitches. While the warp engines functioned at optimum individual efficiency, their respective circuit frequencies were mismatched and it had taken a considerable amount of fine-tuning to get the two engines synchronized well enough to reach even Warp 3. The turbolift doors had a tendency to open either a second too early or a second too late, and the resultant bumps and bruises had been the first problems treated in the medical bay. Even the computer interfaces still had an annoying tendency to reset themselves into any one of a random assortment of Federation languages; while the software engineers claimed they'd nearly resolved the problem, he himself had been confronted with a screen full of Russian characters just a few hours ago.

So it didn't come as a complete surprise when, after taking two bites of his latest attempt to reproduce finely prepared Kelpien, he found himself gagging so badly that he ended up spitting the food into a napkin.

"Computer," said Lorca out loud. "Inspect cooking routines to determine why this food wasn't properly heated through."

" _Working. Inspecting routines. No errors found. Main entrée was heated to an internal temperature of seventy-five degrees Centigrade."_

"The hell it was," he informed it as he opened the replicator cover and shoved the plate back in. "Reheat, damn it."

" _Specify desired temperature. Main entrée temperature is currently seventy-two degrees Centigrade."_

Hardly true. He'd have believed seventy-two degrees according to the Empire's temperature scale, which, interestingly enough, existed in this universe under the name "Fahrenheit."

Maybe, he thought, that was the problem. "Fine. Heat it to a hundred and forty-five degrees."

" _Caution. Specified temperature may result in injuries if not permitted to cool prior to consumption."_

"Override," he snapped, turning away to dump the napkin into the recycler. "Just do it."

"Working."

Just as he turned back toward the replicator, an ear-splitting alarm blared and he heard the atmospheric recyclers spin down. _"Alert, alert! There is a fire in this room! Activating containment protocols."_

"Identify source and suppress!"

The replicator promptly shut itself off.

Making his way over, Lorca opened the cover. Black smoke promptly boiled out, catching him full in the face. It smelled terrible and tasted worse; the greasy stink of the overcooked food was mixed in with the harsh, acidic smoke. Coughing hard, he fell to his knees and lowered his head to the deck, away from the worst of it.

"Computer," he said after he got his breath back. "The fire's out. Re-activate atmospheric recyclers and clear out the air in this room. Quickly," he added, before anyone from the bridge could come knocking to ask whether he was all right.

Or, he realized, before the smell alone made him sicker than ill-prepared Kelpien substitutes ever could.


	4. Attempt 4

_Star Trek_ and _Star Trek: Discovery_ are the registered trademarks and copyrighted property of CBS Corporation and CBS Television Studios. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

* * *

 **Comfort Food  
** _Attempt #4_

* * *

The replicator chimed. _"One plate of tentacles from an Australian giant cuttlefish, flavored with lemon and orange zest, Szechuan peppercorns and extra virgin olive oil; presented with grilled asparagus and butter-flavored orzo noodles."_

Taking the plate out cautiously, Gabriel Lorca inspected it and then allowed himself a smile. Although this wasn't the first time he'd given the replicator this particular order, it was the first time it had come out actually looking the way he'd expected it to. Hopefully, that was about to translate into actually being able to eat the meal.

Carrying it over to the standing desk in his ready room — something else that had taken three or four tries before engineering finally understood that he really _didn't_ want a place to sit down in here — he picked up a fork and dug in. After the first bite, he closed his eyes in bliss. No, it wasn't quite as good as well-prepared fresh Kelpien, but after nearly a year stuck in this alternate universe, he was willing to accept a close substitute.

This was the closest he'd come so far. It had taken a fair number of experiments to find the correct combination of meat and seasonings, leaving him with a grudging appreciation of the food available in the humans' Federation. There was a lot more variety and the dishes tended to be fresher and better prepared. Most humans who enjoyed food as a hobby credited alien contact as a positive influence on culinary science, and he had to admit they weren't wrong.

Mimicking the human attitude toward alien cuisine had been the first thing he'd started doing in his attempts to blend into this society. Allowing himself a genuine appreciation of that one thing had helped him learn how to accept the idea of allowing alien influence into other aspects of human culture, even if he didn't agree with it. Good food didn't mean that aliens were as evolutionarily advanced as humans: even single-celled bacteria could differentiate among various sources of energy.

And after all, he mused as he took the next bite, in the end it had been Earth-based seafood and plant specialties — foods first domesticated and harvested by humans — that had proven to be the best substitutes.

A soft tone announced the presence of someone at the ready room door.

Lorca swallowed quickly, blotting his mouth. "Come in."

"Captain," said his first officer as he came in, allowing the door to slide shut behind him. "I'm sorry to interrupt your meal."

"Think nothing of it, Mr. Saru. What've you brought me?"

"Engineering is reporting that the last of the power leaks in the impulse drives are repaired, and that it resolved the surges in the phaser control systems as well."

"Have they tested that?"

"No," answered Saru. "That is why I am here. They've requested permission to break orbit for a few hours to go out past Mars and conduct some live-fire exercises."

"Tell them to go ahead. Is that all?"

"Yes, sir." But then he paused. "Captain, begging your pardon, but may I ask after your meal? The odor is somewhat…unique."

"An experiment, Commander. Trying to reproduce one of my favorites from home."

"I see. Was it successful?"

Pushing away the urge to wonder just how his first officer might taste had become automatic by now; Lorca had long since realized that Saru's lifestyle had likely rendered his muscles far too chewy and tasteless. But, as he looked from the Kelpien's face to the plate on his desk, that line of thinking abruptly resurrected itself. Who would've ever thought he would end up actually working with a member of a food species? As an equal?

Except that Kelpiens could never be equal to humans. And, he realized suddenly, the taste of human-style cuttlefish would never be quite as good as the ultimate delicacy from Terran cuisine.

With a grimace, Lorca picked up the plate containing his half-eaten meal and dumped it into the recycler. "No, actually, and now that you bring it up, I've lost my appetite."


End file.
